“Entertaining clients—does that answer satisfy you? Let’s finish this meal, then go our separate ways and live our own lives without interfering in each other’s. After all, we were always parallel lines, never meant to intersect. There’s no need for a minor misstep yesterday to entangle us from here on. Today’s lunch? It’s just a coincidence, a meal shared together, nothing more.”
Of course, I could only convey these thoughts through my gaze. All I could do was subtly push him back with my words, leaving no visible trace of rejection.
“Your answer... is rather thought-provoking,” he said, smiling in a way that sharpened all his features, exuding an irritating confidence that showed no sign of being deterred by my response. If anything, he seemed even more self-assured, as though he had unraveled some hidden truth. “Your words make it obvious you have no real intention of marrying your boyfriend.”
“What?” His abrupt statement left me completely off guard. I froze, feeling as though I’d been slapped, yet clueless as to what I’d done to deserve it.
“You said, ‘It’s only a matter of time,’ which suggests you’ve concluded he’s the best choice based on practical considerations. But that’s acceptance—it’s not the same as enthusiastically embracing the idea of marriage.”
“I’m not... that’s not true...” I wanted to refute him, but my throat felt unbearably dry. Was this my cue to run? I had to admit that, within his nonsense, there was a grain of truth. Despite my stable relationship with Hao Yi, I harbored no longing for marriage. My indifference to the institution wasn’t because Hao Yi had done anything wrong—it was simply how I’d always felt. None of my past relationships had ever sparked a desire to take that step.
In other words, if for most people, “finding a spouse” is the ultimate goal of dating, then my ultimate goal might only be “finding a partner to share life with.” And in that regard, Hao Yi was undoubtedly a strong contender. His personality and interests aligned well with mine. Hao Yi wanted to buy an apartment in the city, and I’d accompanied him to view nearly fifty properties. Each time, I imagined what life might look like in those spaces. I’d pictured our future together almost fifty times, and I was certain I wanted to live with him. Isn’t that enough? Why must I hold myself to the stringent standard of “enthusiastically embracing marriage” just to justify building a life with someone I love?
“You don’t need to feel tense,” Chu Ke Huan said, his tone softening as if reading my thoughts. “Not everyone enthusiastically embraces marriage. People like us—we’re not those kinds of people. We’re just adhering to societal expectations, doing what others think we should.”
The moment he said “we,” I swear my body tried to get up from the chair, but I found myself paralyzed, unable to move. Fine—counterarguments failed, escape attempt thwarted. What’s next? Sleep paralysis? Someone, save me!
“Since I was right, can we continue seeing each other in the future?” Chu Ke Huan asked, his eyes fixed on my face, closely watching every flicker of emotion. The terrifying part was how effortlessly his words seemed to dictate my feelings.
“Sharing the same interests doesn’t mean we have to be friends...” I managed to reply, knowing full well that he had completely seen through me. Resistance was futile, and all I could do now was mount a feeble, dying defense. Summoning every ounce of strength, I pushed myself to my feet—a task that felt like it took an eternity—and turned to leave, determined to end this meal and prove to myself that I wasn’t like him.
But before I could take another step, Chu Ke Huan grabbed my hand. A jolt of electricity shot through me, shutting down every last ounce of rationality and self-defense I had. As I teetered on the brink of suffocation, I heard his voice, low and close to my ear:
“Don’t fear people who can see through your heart. What you should fear is those who don’t understand it.”
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